


Absolutely Positive

by korvidae



Series: Fire Siblings Week 2020 [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Druk is an Emotional Support Dragon, Fire Siblings Week 2020, Gen, Hooray for Therapy, Mild Angst, Post-Canon, Zuko (Avatar) is a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korvidae/pseuds/korvidae
Summary: "Zuzu,” Azula’s voice is incredulous. “Are you certain this is adragon?”Or: Azula meets Druk.(Fire Siblings Week 2020 Day 2: Dragons)
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Fire Siblings Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978597
Comments: 15
Kudos: 208





	Absolutely Positive

**Author's Note:**

> Set 10 years post-Sozin’s comet.

Azula has been stuck in a staring match with a pair of small, ruby-red eyes for the past 30 seconds.

“Zuzu,” Azula’s voice is incredulous, “are you certain this is a _dragon_?”

The diminutive creature tilts its head at her, its snake-like body still coiled around her forearm. She hadn’t believed her eyes initially when she had first seen him perched on Zuko’s shoulder—after all, her mind did have a habit of playing tricks on her.

“Absolutely positive,” Zuko replies somewhat distractedly, eyes fixed on where the creature is slowly crawling up Azula’s arm.

“His name is Druk,” he adds, offhandedly.

Azula’s eyes dart from the dragon to Zuko’s face. Her mouth opens for a moment, then snaps shut as she returns her eyes to the dragon again. Zuko can practically hear the gears turning in her head while Druk sniffs her sleeve.

“I have a few questions,” she says quietly, eyes meeting Zuko’s with almost unnerving intensity.

“Alright,” he replies slowly. “Ask away. I might not be able to give you a satisfying answer, though.”

Azula finally breaks eye contact with her brother to look back down at Druk, who is nuzzling the shoulder seam of her vest.

“Where did you find him?”

Zuko shakes his head. “Can’t say. I promised.”

Azula narrows her eyes at him for a moment, then asks:

“Is it— _he_ —the only one? Are there more?”

Zuko looks at the floor, clearly considering how much he can get away with telling her. “There are more,” he begins, his voice just above a whisper. “Not many, though.”

Tentatively, Azula brings a hand, index finger extended, over to the small beast. Druk’s eyes are wide and observant and seem almost welcoming to her. As the pad of her finger makes contact with the scaly skin of his brow, his eyes slide shut as if in pleasure.

“Is he yours?” she asks finally.

Zuko tilts his head as he mulls over the question.

“No,” he decides, “he chose me. There’s not much I can say about how it happened. But he’s not a pet, you know? I think it’s more like…we’re a team. Like Aang and Appa.”

Azula scoffs at this but says nothing. She is now using her index finger to gently stroke Druk, starting from his brow and back over his skull, raptly taking in the look of drowsy contentment on his face.

“Have you seen him breathe fire?”

Once the question is out of her mouth, tension penetrates the conversation. Zuko’s eyes snap from Druk to Azula’s face, clearly asking _why?_

They look at each other for a moment. Then Zuko says: “I have, yeah. He doesn’t do it often. Seems to be only when he’s scared or feels threatened. He did it a few times in the beginning when I got into his space.” Zuko huffs out a little laugh.

“He really is a firebender in that respect.”

Looking at the little dragon, Azula feels a sudden urge to do something to make Druk breathe fire—throw him, strike him, provoke him in some way. It’s an automatic urge, like scratching where you feel an itch. Internally, she begins to count to ten. When a few seconds have passed, and she hasn’t done anything, she realizes both she and Zuko are tensed up, as if they were both anticipating the absolute worst from her.

Azula slowly releases a breath. She can’t remember when she started holding it.

With immense restraint, she gently brings her hand—which at this point is hovering above Druk, who’s traveled up and situated himself on her shoulder—down upon his head with all the gentleness she can muster. Druk seems pleased; she can feel his warm little breaths and tongue brushing near where her ear meets her neck.

Azula thought back to something Mother Superior had said when she had first arrived at the monastery: _“Just because you feel something does not mean you must act on it. You are ultimately responsible for yourself. Your urges carry no intelligence in them; only you can make the necessary choice to act or abstain.”_

* * *

Choices. That concept had sat at the center of Azula’s world for the past four months. She chose to come back, chose to stand trial, even chose the option of becoming cloistered when it was given to her. Everything she was experiencing now was her choice, and she regretted none of it.

At first, Azula couldn’t quite articulate _why_ she chose to be sent to the monastery. Initially, she told herself stories: it was the more dignified option, it sold the image of penitence to those who needed the most convincing, and she wouldn’t become associated with her father like she would if she went to prison. (She never once considered returning to the hospital). But when she was actually there—when her possessions were left behind, when her hair was cropped, when she was expected to rise before dawn and work and eat and meditate alongside every other woman there—the answer had finally occurred to her.

Azula chose monastic life because it _gave_ her choices, rather than removing them. She was not locked in a cage or tied into a straitjacket. Instead of threats or demands, she was met with expectations. And when it all became too much, she had the freedom to ask for help without the fear of rejection or reproach. She spent more of her early days crying alone in the dormitory or to Mother Superior in her office than she would ever admit to anyone. No one there had judged her. And one day, when she was ready, she could leave if she wanted to. She wasn’t ready _yet_ , but she had that freedom, that choice, and that was what mattered to her.

After four months, Azula sent a formal request in writing for a private audience with the Fire Lord. She was surprised by the prompt response, Zuko seemingly eager to see her again.

Which is how she wound up sitting here, surrounded by precarious stacks of documents and maps rolling unceremoniously over edges of tables in the outdated study last occupied by Fire Lord Azulon. No mother, no Mai, just Zuko.

Well, just Zuko and Druk.

* * *

Druk, who is full-on _leaning_ into Azula’s touch now, and she is so utterly transfixed that she doesn’t even notice Zuko getting up from behind his desk and taking a seat beside her.

“I think he likes you,” he says warmly. A shudder runs through her body at those words. Druk perks up his head to look first at Zuko, then squarely into Azula’s eyes.

Her eyes lock onto his like they did earlier, feeling the hypnotic pull of Druk’s crimson irises.

“You okay?” Her brother’s voice brings her out of her reverie.

“Yeah,” she replies quickly, her voice cracking with sudden emotion. Druk slides gracefully from her shoulder and onto Zuko’s outstretched hand.

“You sure?” His voice is soft. He is not prying. Azula looks deeply into his good eye.

“Yes,” she says, with conviction. “I’m absolutely positive.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated 😊
> 
> (Edited 5 January 2021)


End file.
